


They call you Lazarus, for the chances you've already blown

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bittersweet, Character Study, F/M, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Rather introspective overall, implied past relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2013-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-21 17:48:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/903087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Why are you so sweet on me, Clarence?"</p>
<p>You didn't call the name of an angel.</p>
<p>Not unless you wanted them to come to you, to listen for your voice raised in supplication.</p>
<p>"I don't know." He replied, voice gravelly because he had never quite gotten used to the way the humans spoke; his throat was always tight, and airflow not quite steady enough to carry it true.</p>
<p>Oh, but she did.<br/>--<br/>Castiel didn't realize all of the implications of Naomi's memory wipes.</p>
<p>But Meg remembered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They call you Lazarus, for the chances you've already blown

Castiel had looked as he did now even then, before all this.   
Solemn and vaguely inquisitive -- as if he knew he shouldn't be, but couldn't quite help it -- strong in his posture, yet uncomfortable in a human vessel like wearing clothes several sizes too small.

The humans couldn't see it, but his grace leaked out from his frame, strongest at his crown to form a soft, insubstantial sort of halo. Occasionally, when emotions ran high and quick underneath the placid, professional exterior, the shadows of his wings would briefly dance behind him, flickering in and out of sight to the point that one really had to question if they'd seen them at all; or merely imagined them from their own expectations of what an angel was and should be.

Throughout everything, he looked the same. As he had so long ago that the exact time frame was no longer distinct.

Long before this whole business with the Winchesters, with Lucifer or Crowley or Michael.

Before anyone would ever have called her Meg, let alone with the grudging gratitude she occasionally got from one of the Hardy boys as they went on their hellish foxhunts.

And, he was as clueless as ever, as naive and blind as when he first stepped down from heaven to walk across the earth, to take a vessel and learn how to fold himself up into the right shape to fit inside it. He shouldn't have been, he should have long ago broken out of the cycle he seemed to be eternally racing round the track of, with no recollection of ever having been there before.

Of her.

Which didn't bother her, not really. But it did get tiring trying to explain -- or letting it slide and trying to be amused by his lack of knowledge -- her references for the umpteenth time -- though the pop culture she nodded at changed quickly.

He would only squint at her occasionally in response, head cocking slightly to one side like an overgrown puppy, and Meg was reminded why Heaven had never needed an equivelent of the Hellhounds.

The angels were their hounds, obediently hunting and tracking with little thought outside themselves and their benefit of whatever it was they were doing.

But Castiel had always had a bit of a rebellious streak. Small, at first. Hidden underneath layers of programming and tamped back away whenever it made too notable of an appearance. He would never be the obedient mutt.

What that made him instead, Meg was unsure.

But he was the first angel in many a millenia to give even half a damn for the human souls they were supposed to protect, though much of the hosts seemed to have forgotten that fact entirely.

Perhaps he was not well known, with his name spread round even among the mortals. Like Michael, or Gabriel.  
But only because the rest tried so hard to contain him, instead of allowing him the freedom to be the sort of being that Meg suspected God had in mind, when he created the angels.

Most demons would automatically call Lucifer a fallen angel, but she disagreed. Lucifer descended willingly down into the depths of his torment to fight back the way he saw best fit.

Castiel had fallen, tripped and stumbled. Though he looked better, now. Complete, with that unassuming sort of personality coloring his voice and movements.  
Looking at him, though his eyes were fixed to her wrist, Meg couldn't help but wonder if bravery always resulted in damage to the one who wielded it.

The both of them had bled into shades of grey, and again Meg admired the way he looked when he was a little less foolish, a little more pessimistic. When he had been bruised by his experience, bent into something different. More real, somehow.

"Why are you so sweet on me, Clarence?"

You didn't call the name of an angel.

Not unless you wanted them to come to you, to listen for your voice raised in supplication.

"I don't know." He replied, voice gravelly because he had never quite gotten used to the way the humans spoke; his throat was always tight, and airflow not quite steady enough to carry it true.

Oh, but she did. Remembered watching him slip out of favor and eventually seek out someone different, anyone who could explain to him why his mind felt troubled by the actions and commands of his superiors.

And he had found her.

And then again later, after they wiped him clean once more. But they would never be able to quench his -- did angels have souls? -- determination, the immovable, unstoppable force he became.

He always found her, when his mind was clear and he was the closest to genuine that someone so self-contained ever got.

Were anyone to ask, Meg would have no answers. But she'd become rather fond of the guy. And she could feel in his touch and assessing gaze across her injuries that Heaven hadn't been able to crush the gratitude he held towards her, for telling the truth. Or some version of it, at least.

Moments later, he remarked with a soft confidence that he remembered everything. She responded in turn, even if she knew it wasn't true.

Castiel may not have remembered her, but she would never forget him.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Citizens of David" by Trevor Robertson


End file.
